


Dessert and Diatribes

by binkty



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Abbie Doesn't Like How Things Went Down On GoT, Banter, Crane Wants To Make Pies, Established Relationship, F/M, Ichabbie Fall, Slice of Life, Witness Downtime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27383941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binkty/pseuds/binkty
Summary: Ichabod insists apple pie is better when the apples are freshly picked so it's off to the apple orchard for our two Witnesses
Relationships: Ichabod Crane/Abbie Mills
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	Dessert and Diatribes

**Author's Note:**

> Long overdue fic inspired by [_this_ ](https://youwerenevermine.tumblr.com/post/166856988529/ichabbie-fall-moodboard-dedicated-to) moodboard by the lovely youwerenevermine on Tumblr

"Don’t get me wrong," Abbie said, picking an apple from the tree, "I loved Arya killing the Night King and the whole ‘What do we say to the God of death? Not today’ thing." She shoved the apple into the sack a member of the orchard staff had given her and reached out for another. "That was awesome and it made perfect sense except that it totally didn’t because the war with the Night King was Jon’s arc." 

Standing next to the ladder on which Abbie currently stood, collecting apples into his own sack, Ichabod just nodded in agreement, having heard this rant before on more than one occasion.

"He was supposed to be the prince who was promised," Abbie continued. "The one to see that whole thing through and kill the Night King. That's why he was brought back from the dead. I hate when shows spend all this time setting up plots and then completely abandon them in stupid ways on some kind of _subverting expectations_ crap. 'Oh you thought that thing that looked like obvious foreshadowing was actual foreshadowing? Haha! We fooled you good! And these things we made it seem were essential to the plot? Nope! Tricked you again! Expectations subverted! Aren't we so smart?'"

Ichabod ducked his head in attempt to hide his smile. Not that it made much difference. So absorbed in her uncharacteristic diatribe, he doubted whether Abbie would even notice. Still, he felt guilty finding amusement in her outrage. But only slightly. There was too much enjoyment to be had in this rare role reversal of theirs that had him listening indulgently while she went off on a tangent. 

"I mean, what was the point of Jon being a secret Targaryen?" Abbie went on, abandoning for the moment the task at hand and just standing there on the ladder. "That whole plot point pretty much amounted to absolutely nothing. So much of everything just didn't matter. So many abandoned plot threads, character motivations just conveniently forgotten. Don’t even get me started on what they did to my precious Mother of Dragons. What they did to Daenerys was so insulting. And all for Bran to become king of Westeros?" she complained, her voice taking on an incredulous tone. "Bran?! And they want us to believe the prince of Dorne and Yara freaking Greyjoy would be cool with that? That they wouldn't immediately demand the return of their sovereignty since that's what they've wanted for the longest time anyway? Especially when Sansa declared the North to be its own sovereign state?" She shook her head and angrily resumed picking apples. "How’d we even get on this subject anyway?"

"I believe someone asked us to hold the door as we were first entering the shop before coming to the orchard."

"Oh yeah,” Abbie frowned, "Hodor." She paused with apple in hand as she remembered the beloved fallen character. "It's crazy how a once good show can go downhill so fast that it ends up making people angry just to think about it."

"And causes them to abuse poor unsuspecting apples in their justified ire," Ichabod teased.

Abbie look down at the apple in her hand, a sheepish smile forming on her lips. “Have I been being a little rough with them?"

"I think you took half the branch with you on this last," he replied. He watched her twist the apple free from the twig to which it was still attached, his smile growing into a grin.

"Oops," she said, letting the twig drop to the ground before adding the apple to those already in the sack.

"I'm sure the tree will be fine, Lieutenant. No doubt they've seen worse from the children who visit the orchard."

Abbie smiled at his attempt at reassurance. "Are you saying I'm as a bad as a child?"

"Not bad. Just," and here Ichabod paused, searching for the right words, "inexperienced with horticulture," he settled on. 

Abbie chuckled. "That's because I get my apples from the store like a normal person."

"Normal is relative," he replied. "And you may get your apples from the store, Lieutenant, but there is nothing better than one that's been freshly picked."

"That's why farmer's markets." 

"You quip," Ichabod smiled off Abbie's wide grin.

"I do," she returned brightly. "At least in part." She reached out for another apple. "I agree there is something to be said for freshly picked and homemade, but my hands don't need to be the ones that did the picking nor does my home need to be the one where things were made," she stated. "There are apples and fresh baked pies here in the orchard's store." 

"That may be true," Ichabod allowed, "but I guarantee they could never hold a candle to those apples that been harvested nor the pies that have been baked by one's own hand."

"If you say so," Abbie laughed softly. "I'll be happy to have you make me as many freshly baked pies as you want to test your theory, Crane," she smiled, placing an amiable hand on his shoulder. "Just don't expect me to be the one to clean up the mess in the kitchen after you do."

"Oh, I would never dream of it, Lieutenant," he smiled in return.

"How many more of these apples do we need to pick anyway?" she asked, hefting her sack up higher on her shoulder.

Ichabod looked into his own sack and then brought his gaze to Abbie's, doing his best to approximate how many apples it carried by the way it was being filled out. "A few more should suffice," he decided.

"Well you can get those then," Abbie said, already descending the ladder as he bent to pick up the windfalls, or more probably, those that had been shaken down by Abbie's earlier, more vigorous harvesting.

"Are you so eager to leave?" he asked teasingly. "What could be better than a day spend out in the radiant sunshine and crisp autumnal air?"

"Crisp is right," she replied.

The playful smirk on Ichabod's face fell away into concern. "Are you chilled, Lieutenant?"

"Chilled? No. Getting a little chilly? Maybe."

"Perhaps some hot apple cider can be added to our bill when we purchase our apples," he suggested, tucking her into his side to warm her.

Abbie hummed her agreement and they started down the tree lined path toward the building where they were to pay for the goods they'd harvested. "Or maybe we can get some _hard_ apple cider to take home with us for later," she put forth.

"Oh, I do like the sound of that. To be enjoyed out on the porch swing as the setting sun sets the trees on our street ablaze with vibrant colours of red, yellow, and orange," he mused.

"Snuggled up under that rust coloured blanket against the chill," Abbie added, leaning further into his side. 

"It's enough to make a man forget about pies all together," Ichabod declared, his mind drifting, already envisioning how the rest of the night would go. 

"Hey, you can't have us out here picking all these apples, talking about how with them you were going to make the best pie ever and then not deliver," Abbie objected, laughing. 

"I don't believe I said they were to be the best ever."

"No, just that no others could hold a candle to them." 

They emptied the apples into one of the plastic lined bushels provided by the orchard.

"I fear I may have overstated my abilities," Ichabod worried, finding a vacant hook on which to return their now empty sacks.

Abbie chuckled. "Don't worry, Crane. You've redeemed yourself from that Bedfordshire clanger incident," she soothed, patting his chest comfortingly, amusement still clearly visible on her face. "I'm sure even if they aren't the best ever, they'll at least be decent. And then just top it with some vanilla ice cream and you're golden." 

"Gracious as always," he smiled affectionately and then bent down to hoist the bushel up into his arms. 

"Yep," Abbie beamed. "Now let's go find some of that cider."

"Lead the way, Lieutenant."


End file.
